Ten Thousand Years of Life

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the carved window lattice, casting mottled shadows on the antique floor. The air was filled with a mix of sandalwood and the scent of old paper, as if one were in a crevice of time. "Boss, how much is this blue-and-white porcelain plate?" a middle-aged man in a suit asked, pointing at a Qing dynasty blue-and-white porcelain plate in the display case. Ye Wushuang looked up, his gaze calmly sweeping over the man's face. He appeared to be about twenty-five or twenty-six, with handsome features and a gentle, jade-like temperament, but his deep eyes seemed to hold the vicissitudes of a thousand years.